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“You didn’t have to.” I roll my eyes. “How was practice?”
“Long.” He pulls away from the curb. “How was your session?”
I know he doesn’t really want to know but he asks because he knows I enjoy what I do. “It was good. He just needs a refresher.”
He nods. “Cool.”
I shake my head and smile because he does not care about Ryan at all. I bet he would be a lot more interested if I was tutoring a female. Actually, I know he would.
His phone vibrates in the cup holder between us and my mind goes back to that group of girls, wondering if it’s one of them, reminding him what a great time they had once. I hate that I’m even still thinking about it, and I hate that I’m trying to discreetly look at his screen as he picks it up.
He doesn’t look at it until we stop at a red light, and I try my best to act like I’m scrolling through social media. Cuba swipes his phone open and frowns, his eyes narrowing at the screen. The light turns green and he tosses his phone back in the cup holder and reaches over to grab my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. What they said shouldn’t matter, and Ryan telling me I’m pretty shouldn’t make me feel better. Cuba wants me when he could have chosen to be with a different girl every night, he chose to be with me.
“Are you okay, Arrow?” He squeezes my hand.
Looking at him, I smile. “Yeah, just tired.”
He gives me a look but lets it go. No way am I telling him what happened.
“So, you know how we’re supposed to go to your mom’s Saturday?” he asks slowly when he parks outside his townhouse.
“Yeah.”
Is he cancelling? Is this too soon for him? Oh God, it’s too serious.
“I was thinking maybe we could do lunch with her and dinner with my parents,” he says slowly, shocking me.
I haven’t brought up meeting his parents, I don’t want him to feel as if I have to meet his since he met mine. Cuba meeting my dad was not planned at all. He did that all on his own.
He’s waiting for me to say something. “Yeah, I’ll let my mom know.”
Now, not only am I still thinking about earlier, I’m now worried about meeting his parents. I’ve never met a boyfriend’s parents, not even Dex’s, he’s from Washington.
Cuba squeezes my hand again before letting go and getting out. I do the same as he grabs his gym bag and my overnight bag. “I can take my bag, you look kind of ridiculous carrying a glitter Victoria Secrets bag.”
“I don’t care how I look, here.” He hands me a key he pulls out of his pocket. “Open the door.”
I take it from his hand. “You know you should really put this on your key chain or you’ll lose it,” I tell him as I open the front door.
“It’s yours.” He pushes past me and looks back. “You should really put that on a keychain or you’ll lose it.” He winks and keeps walking into the house.
And I’m smiling again. I don’t think I have ever smiled this much in my life, but Cuba does that to me. He turns me into a giggling girl without even trying.
Just like that, those earlier worries are gone, what those girls said is no longer even a thought. Cuba Knight is mine and he never lets me doubt it.
“This is stupid.” I hear Cuba mutter, making me look up from my textbook.
We’re sitting at the table having dinner, spaghetti and salad that I threw together once we got in and doing homework. This is a typical night for us. Either I’m here at his place or he’s at mine. India says we might as well move in together, she might be right. She also says that I’m wasting my college years, that college is all about trying ‘different dick’, her words not mine. I had to remind her that college is about becoming a decent human being to enter the real world. We agree to disagree.
“What’s stupid?” I ask, twirling my fork around my noodles before taking a bite.
“Why do I have to read about that king with the hundreds of wives when they have a show on it?” He pushes his empty plate away.
“You know that’s loosely based on historical facts, right?” I smile. “I only watch it because the guys are hot, and I love tragic love stories.”
“Because you’re sick like that.” He winks at me. “I hope you aren’t disappointed that we aren’t a tragic love story.”
I bite my lip. “Not at all.”
